


Highway to Hell

by sevenofspade



Category: Marvel 616, X-Factor (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-02
Updated: 2013-05-02
Packaged: 2017-12-10 05:18:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/782265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenofspade/pseuds/sevenofspade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Layla Miller and Lorna Dane track down the woman who would have been Queen of Hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Highway to Hell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Deifire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deifire/gifts).



> I hope you enjoy reading this pinch-hit, I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Time-wise, this takes place before X-Factor's Hell on Earth War arc, after the Avengers vs X-Men crossover event and who knows when relative to everything else. Marvel's timeline is kind of a mess.
> 
> Much thanks to [lilacsigil](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lilacsigil/pseuds/lilacsigil) for the last-minute beta.

So! It goes like this: Layla does not know the future anymore. It goes like this too: The Lords of Hell are assholes. Another way it goes is this: Illyana Rasputin is the Phoenix Queen.

One of these things is true, or more than one, or not really or none of them or maybe.

The problem with believing in things like free will instead of believing in things like predestination, - not that Layla does, but if she did - is that you start asking yourself questions like ‘am I doing the right thing?’, ‘how much of this is true?’ or worse yet ‘how much of this is real?’. At least with predestination, you can always be sure that whatever you do will be the right thing.

Layla can’t, not anymore.

Instead of the future being a clear wide open road, it’s become a myriad of paths branching off from the present. If she was inclined to be poetic, she’d wonder if this is what the Norse meant when they talked of the World Tree. But she’s not and they didn’t. She’s seen Yggdrasil, or at least she will. Probably.

Ever since the things that always would have happened have started not happening, she’s started remembering things that didn’t happen, will not happen, can not happen.

Here is a thing that did not happen: Illyana Rasputin took the Phoenix for herself and became Queen of Hell. That did not happen. What happened was that she was the third of the Phoenix Five to fall.

That’s how the story goes, anyway. Layla remembers both of those, and thousands more besides, with perfect clarity.

Just as well, really. Hell is coming to Earth within weeks, there’s no need for Limbo to ride on its tailcoats. Illyana Rasputin is Queen of Limbo still. She is, was and will be. 

The Once and Future Queen she’s called in certain corners of the astral planes. Or will be. Or was. Or none. Or all of the above.

“Hey,” Lorna says. She leans over the back of the couch, her hair draping over Layla’s head. “Anything good on TV?”

“Illyana Rasputin is Queen of Limbo,” Layla says, because she is and how did she not see? Too many sights clouding her mind.

Lorna sighs. “Is it Thursday again?”

“The Queen of Limbo is on a more equal footing with the Hell Lords than any of us,” Layla explains.

“And Rahne could use the backup?” It’s not really a question. Lorna had been listening when Layla had been talking or she’d figured it out on her own. Theresa had, after all.

(In the next universe over, the Morrigan tears through Mephisto like tissue paper and Theresa Cassidy dies alongside him.)

In this universe, Otherworld is at war with the Manchester Gods. No one is quite sure whose side the Morrigan is on, except her own.

It’s best not involving the Morrigan in any war you wish to get out of alive.

“We could use the backup,” Layla corrects.

Lorna nods. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’d hardly be the first to go looking for her. She _is_ wanted the world over,” she adds at Layla’s raised eyebrow.

Layla raises her eyebrow higher. “I know stuff.”

“Of course you do.” Lorna’s face is resigned; she’s wearing her street clothes and car keys jiggle in her hand. “I’ll drive.”

They go.

Lorna drives.

The wind blows through Layla’s air, all the way to Sayansk in the coldest, loneliest recesses of Mother Russia.

“It’s freezing, are you sure this is the right place?” Lorna asks, goosebumps rising on her bare arms.

Layla shrugs. Feeling cold is for losers and people who don’t wear leather jackets. “Maybe, maybe not. Depends if she was here before we got here or not.”

“Does the next part of this plan involve us travelling back to the US?” Lorna’s eyes are narrowed and her lips are pinched. “What aren’t you telling me, Layla?”

(Across the multiverse, the magnetic fields of Earth crush Asmodeus into dust and Lorna Dane takes her rightful place as his successor.)

Layla doesn’t answer. Lorna glares at her and gets into the car, slamming the door.

When the car starts hovering over the ground again, Layla gives in. “She stays here for a while, then comes back to the US. After that, she moves around a lot. Finding her here would have been easier.”

“Fine,” Lorna says, “but this time, we’re doing things my way.”

Lorna’s way is much more effective than Layla’s. They find Illyana’s brother, in a prison in the middle of nowhere. He does not know, nor wants to know, where his sister is.

“Don’t say anything, that was on purpose.” Lorna settles down on the floor and breathes deep, even breaths. It’s a meditation trance that makes her hair flutter in a non-existent breeze.

Layla waits.

Lorna opens her eyes. “I found her metal. Anywhere in this universe she goes, I will find her. Get in the car.”

Layla gets and does not mention that, not only is the universe a very large place, it is also not the only place Illyana can run to.

She dozes off against the window, dreams of war playing beneath her eyelids.

(Halfway across the multiverse, Monet St Croix drives her fist through Satannish’s brain and Penance takes his crown.)

(Tier kills Pluto.)

(She herself drives a bargain with Hela, her soul for the boy’s, his place for hers, and run, Layla, run.)

Lorna shakes her awake above Lake Michigan, as she starts landing the car. “She’s down by the lakeside.”

Glencoe, Illinois has a lakeside café with a beautiful view of the lake. Sometimes, early on clear, crisp and cold mornings like today, the Chicago skyline floats slightly over the horizon. It shimmers, the way mirages do.

At a table in the café sits Illyana Rasputin, ragged fingernails and sword calluses wrapped around a bone china cup.

The people do not seem to care or do not notice that there is a wanted criminal in their midst. The note on her teacup saucer pointed towards the former. It reads “Always good to see you, be sure to come back soon and thank you again for everything”.

She sips calmly at her tea and says, “I can tell you’re here for me, but not, I think, for the reasons most are.”

Layla and Lorna explain the situation to her, how X-Factor is going to Hell in a handbasket and the world is coming along for the ride.

“When last I used my power, I tore the world apart and brought Hell to Earth. You do not want me on your side.” Illyana’s hands are shaking slightly around her cup, long nails clicking against the porcelain. She is not lying but she is not telling the whole truth, either. There are dark shadows haunting her eyes, remnants of hellfire and divine wrath.

Layla does not trust anyone whose nails grew that long, that fast, without turning to claws.

(In an alternate universe, Rahne Sinclair tears out Satanna’s throat and her Hell empties on Earth permanently.)

Her teaspoon wrapped around her arm and Illyana looked up at Lorna. “I will not interfere, if that is your fear. Not on your side, nor the other. This is the best deal you will be getting today.”

The waitress comes back to ask Illyana, “Are these people bothering you?”

“No,” Illyana said, “they were just leaving. Weren’t you?”

(In the universe after next, Illyana Rasputin, Phoenix Queen of Limbo and Hell, opens the ground beneath their feet, in a very literal highway to Hell.)


End file.
